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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723047">But Even The Strong Can Fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeofthegalaxy/pseuds/edgeofthegalaxy'>edgeofthegalaxy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Natasha Whump, Panic Attacks, Protective Clint Barton, Rape Aftermath, off screen sexual assault</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:35:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeofthegalaxy/pseuds/edgeofthegalaxy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Natasha goes silent during a mission, Clint knows something isn't right.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys! Here's another tumblr prompt fill for you! </p><p>Please be careful while reading! This story contains off-screen sexual assault, the immediate aftermath and descriptions of the injuries.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Has anyone seen Widow recently?” Clint asks over the communication line, eyes scanning the ground from his perch on the roof. Natasha normally wasn’t very talkative over the commutation lines, unlike Tony and Thor who both enjoyed keeping running commentaries on their activities. Natasha was quieter, but she did keep them updated every few minutes at the least. Clint doesn’t remember the last time she had been this silent for so long. He had tried calling her name several times over the line already with no luck.</p><p>“We saw her about fifthteen minutes ago.” Steve reports. Clint can hear the slight frown in his voice. “She said she was headed up to you. She didn’t make it?”</p><p>Clint’s stomach drops to the ground. “No. Not at all. Fuck. Tony?”</p><p>Tony responds after a few seconds. “Friday says her comms have been turned off? That’s really weird…Let me try- Fri, can you override?” There’s some slight static noise, and they can hear Tony calling for Natasha, asking if she can hear him and demanding a response of some kind. None comes.</p><p>“It’s doesn’t matter. Maybe it broke or something. I’m going to her. Tony, does Friday have her location?”</p><p>“Huh. Okay, well her tracker seems to be acting a bit weird too, but last logged location was about ten minutes from you, Hawk. Let us know when you find her. We’ll keep an eye out too.”</p><p>Clint curses again, shoving his arrow back into his quiver and collapsing his bow. He takes off in the direction Tony told him, keeping watch for any sign of his partner. He tries his best to not let his mind run away from him, but he can’t help the nagging voice in the back of his head. <em>Nat wouldn’t just disappear like this. This isn’t right. </em></p><p>It only takes Clint five minutes to reach Natasha’s last location. It’s nothing special- some old worn down and crumbling warehouse that was definitely <em>not</em> on any paths of the plan Steve had laid out. The building was eerily quiet, causing Clint’s hair on the back of his neck to rise. Narrowing his eyes, he draws his bow and arrow again, holding it low while his eyes run over the building.</p><p>He pauses, not willing to accept what he was seeing. On the ground, several feet away from him laid a little black earpiece, along with a discarded Glock near it. Natasha’s Glock.</p><p>“Nat?” He calls out hesitantly. “You here?”</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>He continues through the building, listening intently. He’s about to report back to the team and tell them this was a dead end when he notices a trail of blood droplets, leading to a door off to his left; one he hadn’t noticed earlier. He silently moves towards the door, placing his ear close against the rotting wood to listen for any clues.</p><p>There. Someone was breathing.</p><p>Clint backs away some feet, lining up his foot with the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he kicks in the door and rushes though, bow raised and ready to defend himself as he enters.</p><p>“Oh, my god.” He chokes out around the bile rising in his throat. His bow clatters to the ground as he takes in the stripped and bleeding girl in the corner.</p><p>Natasha is curled into herself on the ground, knees pulled up to hide her bare chest. One of her arms is wrapped around her legs, hugging them closer to her body, while the other hand is holding onto her head near her temple, dark blood spilling out from under her fingers. Her once pale skin was marred with black and blue bruises, and his eyes catch on the handprint bruise that cover her hips. Tremors rack through her body mercilessly. She’s sitting in a small puddle of blood.</p><p>The floor is littered with her torn clothing and broken weapons, carelessly strewn about. Pushed up against the opposite wall lies the dead body of a man. The man is easily recognizable as one of the high-ranking members of the group they were currently supposed to be taking down. The man’s throat has been crudely slit; the broken piece of glass she must have used still embedded in his skin.</p><p>Clint is down next to her in a second, hands hovering slightly, not sure what exactly to do first. He settles for laying a feather light touch on her shoulder, whispering her name cautiously.</p><p>“No!” Natasha flinches away as a frightened and pained yelp falls from her lips. “Don’t touch me!”</p><p>“Nat! Natasha! It’s me.” He scrambles in front of her, both hands coming up to lightly cup either side of her face and guide her head up, forcing her to look at his face. “Look at me, Tasha. It’s Clint.”</p><p>“Clint?” She breathes out, eyes roaming over his face before making eye contact. Her green eyes fill with moisture as her face drops. Her bottom lip begins to tremble and she squeezes them together desperately trying to keep somewhat of a composure. “Clint…”  </p><p>“Yeah, babygirl. I’m right here.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just gathers up her small body into his arms and pulls her onto his lap. He holds her close against his chest, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head as she drops it into the crook of his neck. Natasha’s arms circle his torso, hands tightly fisting into the leather of his vest. “I’ve got you.”</p><p>She’s making a soft keening sound, something he had never heard from her in all their seven years of working together. His other hand rubs up and down her back as he tries in vain to provide any source of comfort. Her bare skin is freezing under his touch, and with her head so close now he can hear her shallow breaths.</p><p>Her body tenses as her stomach rebels suddenly, and she gags against him. He gently repositions, leaning her to the side just in time for bile and stomach acid to fall from her lips. She gasps for air around her broken apologizes. “I. I’m sor-ry. Ow. My head, C. It’s my head. He knocked me-“ She throws up again. “He knocked me out.”</p><p>Her unfocused eyes and bloodied forehead make a lot more sense then. Her behavior as well, aligning more so with someone suffering a severe head injury rather than normally stoic, deadly Black Widow.</p><p>“He. I couldn’t move…” She chokes on a cough. “I didn’t know, where I was.” She takes in a shuddering breath. “I thought I was back in- “</p><p>“I know, sweetheart. I know. You don’t have to say it.” And she doesn’t. His brain fills in the gaps for her. <em>I thought I was back in the Red Room. </em>He knows it’s not even the injuries themselves that are bothering her so much. It’s the pure lack of control, the reminders of a time when she was younger and powerless.</p><p>He is suddenly aware of the voices in his ear calling his name, and he groans in annoyance. He had forgotten about them. He switches his comm back on.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I have her. She’s... in rough shape.” He looks down at the girl in his lap, brushes her sweaty hair away from where it’s sticking to her face. He repeats their location to them, but then reconsiders upon another glance at Natasha. “Um. Don’t all come at once, though. Maybe just…” He thinks of who else on the team might be best. Thor was immediately out- his energy was too high and Clint couldn’t be sure he would grasp the seriousness of the situation. Tony was out as well; he was sure Natasha wouldn’t want Tony to see her in such a vulnerable position. Banner might have been the best suited person on the team to deal with this, but he also knew just how fond and protective of Natasha Bruce was, and he worried about the Other Guy making an appearance. “Steve. And bring some extra clothes.” Steve was a good choice. Natasha trusted him, and he was just awkward enough to not say anything stupid or stare at her.</p><p>“Uh, sure, okay. I’ll have to stop by the Quinjet first for the clothes. I’ll be there in a sec.” Clint could hear the unease and questions in his voice. He doesn’t address them.</p><p>Clint pulls away from Natasha, just enough to be able to look her over. Spotting a torn piece of fabric a foot away, he reaches over to grab it, tries not to think about her undershirt he identifies it from. There wasn’t much he could do for her at the moment, but he could at least try to make her a bit more presentable, save her from having the whole team see her a bloody mess.</p><p>He wipes the cloth over her face. She tries to move away, frowning. “Stop, Natasha. Let me help you. It’s okay.” She stops struggling, going still in his hands and letting him continue his administrations. He scrubs the dried blood from her bruised lips and busted forehead. Her hair is tangled and disheveled, so he sets to work on parting it back correctly, smoothing it down with his hands and running his fingers through the curls to work out some of the knots.</p><p>He continues this for several moments, keeping a running dialogue going to help prevent her from falling back into a flashback. He keeps talking until he hears the footsteps of his team member coming up behind them.</p><p>“Clint?” Steve asks, peaking into the room, but not completely entering. Clint angles himself more between the door and Natasha, blocking her naked body from Steve’s view as best he could.</p><p>“Just throw the clothes over here, Steve. Thank you. Can you just wait outside?” Clint asks, and Steve nods, backing out after tossing the old spare SHIELD clothes near them. “Okay, then. Let’s get you dressed, Nat.”</p><p>She nods and quietly agrees. He grabs the T-shirt and holds it out for her, not rushing her in her sluggish movements as she pokes her arms through the arm holes and helps her get it over her head and pulls it down to cover her torso. He grabs the sweatpants next, and is attempting to maneuver her legs through them when she whines and pushes away his hands.</p><p>“Nat…?”</p><p>She whines again in response, and searches the floor for something. Clint sees what she’s looking for, and hands her the previous cloth he used to clean her. She grabs it from him, brings it down to her legs and begins furiously trying to rub away the dried blood on the inside of her thighs. Her hands are clumsy from her head injury though, and she’s not making much progress by herself. Clint can hear her breathing start to increase again- she’s working herself back up, getting frustrated.</p><p>“Hey, Hey, Talia.” He places his hand over hers, stilling her movements. “We can get you cleaned up more as soon as we’re on the jet, okay? I’m sorry I can’t do more right now. Will you let me get these on you first? Once we do, we can get out of here and onto the jet.”</p><p>She nods weakly, dropping the cloth in trade of trying to help Clint with the pants. She’s too concussed to be of any real help, but Clint doesn’t brush her away and allows her to think she’s doing more than she actually is. It’s slow, but the sense of control seems to calm her.</p><p>Once she is dressed again, Clint stands. He reaches down and holds her shoulders to steady her as she shakily follows him up.</p><p>“Think you can walk?” He asks. She nods even as she winces while she takes an experimental step. Clint resists the urge to scoop her into his arms and just carry her. He knows she wouldn’t want the team seeing her having to be carried if not absolutely necessary, and he doesn’t want to take that slight bit of dignity away from her.</p><p>Steve meets them outside, his face tight. He’s picked up Clint’s bow and quiver for him, and is holding Natasha’s gun. He nods at them.</p><p>“I, uh, spoke to the team. Told them to give you guys some space on the way back.” Clint thanks him, and they begin slowly making their way to the Quinjet.</p><p>The ride back is quiet, and although he can’t let Natasha fall asleep like she wants too, it doesn’t stop him from cradling her in his arms all the way home.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! Finally, the much requested part/chapter 2!<br/>Please be careful with this chapter! It contains Natasha minimizing the seriousness of sexual assault, so if that is upsetting to you, read with caution!  Other than that, sorry for any mistakes and I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It turns out Natasha had sustained more damage than she had initially let on. While helping her change into one of his shirts, he had seen the telltale bruising indicating at least two broken ribs. And although he had cleaned up the cuts on her back as much as he could, He could see the redness around them indicting an infection. He also wouldn’t be surprised if the larger one needed stitches, which she wouldn’t allow the night before.</p>
<p>And so they ended up here- Natasha standing against the wall of his bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest as she stared down Clint.</p>
<p>“Nat. You need to go to medical.”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Clint knew this would happen. Natasha hated medical with a passion, and it was always a struggle with her. He couldn’t blame her- he knows this phobia of hers had stemmed from her childhood in the Red Room, and he tries his best not to push her if he didn’t think it was necessary.</p>
<p>“Then at least let me or Bruce wrap your ribs. You remember that last time you broke a rib and it punctured your lung, right? I know you remember that.”</p>
<p>Natasha stared at him. “I’m fine, Clint.”</p>
<p>“You’re not fine, Natasha. I know you want to pretend nothing happened, but we need to deal with this. This isn’t something you can just brush off again.”</p>
<p>“You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do.”</p>
<p>“I have the right to care about my partner and her well-being.”</p>
<p>“Just leave it.”</p>
<p>Natasha turns from him and stomps into the kitchen. He follows, only to find her standing at the counter and popping the top off a bottle of pain pills, left over from a former mission seven months ago.</p>
<p>“Nope.” He reaches over and swipes the pills out of her palm. “You have to let someone look at you first.”</p>
<p>Natasha glares at him but doesn’t verbally respond. She takes measured breaths through her nose, teeth clenched. She makes a move towards the door, and Clint reaches out to grab her elbow to stop her, but she quickly twists her arm out of his grasp and is gone.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Tony holds up a hand as he spits out his mouth guard, signaling to Steve the round was over as he leans against the edges of the boxing ring. Bruce clicks the timer off from where he was watching, safely outside the box.</p>
<p>“Ya’ know, Tony, you’re never gunna beat him if you keep stopping like that. This is the third round and-“ Bruce is cut off from the door to the gym being yanked open.</p>
<p>Natasha stumbles in, dressed in a too large T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, a switch from her tank top and leggings she normally opted to work out in. She pauses for a second, catching sight of the three men in the gym. Giving them a tight lipped, forced smile and a tiny nod before turning her back to them in favor of climbing onto the leg curl extension machine. She pops in her headphones, and a second later they can hear the small hum of her music through them, the volume turned up to the max.</p>
<p>Steve frowns in concern and turns to say something to Bruce, but Bruce is already wearing an expression matching his. Tony doesn’t look bothered as he takes a swig from his water bottle, but Steve catches him side eyeing her. They all remember the ride back to the compound the day before. The way Natasha had clung to Clint, how Clint had refused to let her go. They had never seen Natasha in such a state before, and none of them had known how to react to this new side of their youngest teammate. Tony had pressed Steve for details, even bribing him with a few million dollars, but Steve himself couldn’t even tell them what exactly had happened for sure. All he had been able to provide was that she had been left in bad shape after an obvious fight of some kind. But they’d all come to their own conclusions. They’d each heard the call for spare clothes over the comms line, seen the way she’d limped onto the jet.</p>
<p>In the corner of the room, they can hear the small gasps coming from the redhead. It was clear she was trying to stifle them as she struggled to breath.</p>
<p>“Uh,” Steve whispers. “Should we… do something?” The images of Natasha covered in blood just over 24 hours ago fill his head.</p>
<p>Bruce frowns. “I mean, I’d say yes. She definitely had a concussion the other day.” He sneaks another look over towards her. “Also, she’s really struggling with that weight and she usually does double that with no problem.”</p>
<p>Neither of them makes any moves though, not sure how to go about the situation. It was easy to tell Natasha was not in a good mood right now. She didn’t like being disturbed while working out even on her best days.</p>
<p>Tony rolls his eyes at their caution. He sets his water bottle filled with something distinctly not-water down and marches over to the machine as he calls out her name.</p>
<p>“Natasha.” He calls again after she doesn’t respond to his first call. He reaches out and lays a hand on her shoulder.</p>
<p>Natasha is off the machine in a second, twirling around to face Tony. Before he even as the chance to process the situation, he is caught in a headlock as Natasha holds onto him.</p>
<p>“Nat!” He yells, throwing his hands up to claw at her arm, desperately attempting to put space between the crock of her elbow and his throat. The thought of flipping her occurs to him, but he knows she is already injured and isn’t willing to make anything worse.</p>
<p>Another set of hands was on them then, Steve gripping her arm as he pries her off Tony.</p>
<p>“Get <em>off</em> me!” Natasha yells as Steve backs up with Natasha, his arms wrapped around her and holding her against him. She kicks her heels back into his shins and slams a fist down on his hands where he holds her, but he knows if she really wanted to get away from him, she could. Half of him wondered if she just needed to hit something. Someone.</p>
<p>“Natasha! Calm down!”</p>
<p>“Friday, tell Clint to get down here, now, please.” Tony says as he watches Steve lower himself and the redhead down to the floor. Bruce is there now too, hovering over the pair worriedly.</p>
<p>“Let go of me, Steve.” Natasha growls out, pushing at his hands.</p>
<p> “You’re hurting yourself, Nat.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care.”</p>
<p> “We do.”</p>
<p>The doors slam open, revealing a flustered Clint. “What’s going on?” He asks to no one in particular as he eyes land on the scene taking place on the gym’s floor. He frowns and stalks over to the four avengers. Clint grabs Natasha’s hands, holding them still to stop her assault on Steve.</p>
<p>“Stop it, ‘Tasha.” He grounds out between clinched teeth. Natasha stops struggling, but she doesn’t relax. Her breathing is still labored, and Clint can tell she is having a hard time focusing her eyes. “Bruce, she needs medical attention. Her ribs are broken, and I’d appreciate a scan on her head, just to name a few things.”  </p>
<p>Natasha makes a noise of protest, but a quick glance at her face tells him she is still there with them, in the present. Pissed off, yes. he could handle pissed off. He didn’t, however, want a flashback.</p>
<p>With her squirming creased, Steve loosens his grip on her, letting his arms fall to his side.</p>
<p>“Uh, Steve?” Tony starts, and gives a nod towards one of his arms once their attention is on him. All eyes follow his gesture. There’s blood smeared onto his arm.</p>
<p>“Shit.” Clint says. “Her cut opened back up.”</p>
<p>“I’m <em>fine.</em>”</p>
<p>“You need stitches, Nat. Stop. Bruce?”</p>
<p>Bruce nods in agreement, standing up from his position. “You’re the one who has to get her to the medbay, though.”</p>
<p>Clint shrugs, slipping an arm under her back and another under her knees, careful to make sure not to disturb her cut or put too much pressure on her ribs.</p>
<p>Clint carries her to the medbay, Bruce several steps ahead of them to open doors and points at a gurney. “Set her there.” Clint does, depositing her onto the gurney softly. She does nothing to help him, keeping her arms crossed.</p>
<p>Bruce examines her quickly, trying not to waste any time. The title of doctor had been placed upon him by the team enough times now that he had long ago stopped trying to argue with them. The brain scan is the easiest part- thanks to a new device he and Cho were testing. It wasn’t as good as an MRI, but it would do the trick when dealing with stubborn teammates. Her concussion was on the severe side, but showed signs of healing.</p>
<p>“Natasha, I’m going to need to examine your back and your ribs. Can you remove the T-shirt?” She glares at Clint, who is sitting across the room on a rolling stool and gives her a sympathetic look. With a roll of her eyes, she grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it over her head, revealing her bruised torso. Bruce doesn’t linger on it, keeping a professional composure throughout.</p>
<p>It takes several tissues to clean away the blood leaking from the laceration, and Bruce quickly begins lacing it shut with a needle. It takes eight stitches to close it completely. Natasha doesn’t flinch.</p>
<p>“Okay, that’s done.” He tosses the needle into the trashcan. “And you said two broken ribs, right?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Clint refutes. “On her left side.”</p>
<p>Bruce doesn’t comment on her lie, just methodically sticking the strips of kinesiology tape over her ribs. They have several braces for this exact situation, but they’d never been successful in getting Natasha to wear them.</p>
<p>“I’d tell you how long to keep those on for and what to do, but I know you guys are all pros at this point.” Bruce says to her as he pulls his gloves off, signaling he was done examining her.</p>
<p>Clint stands up and thanks Bruce but doesn’t make a move to leave. Bruce can tense the tension between the pair and takes his cue to head out.  
</p>
<p>Clint closes the door behind Bruce, turning and leaning his body against the door, signaling they weren’t done yet.</p>
<p>“Was that so painful?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Damn, Nat. I know you hate medical stuff, but you can’t do that to yourself.” He gives Natasha a few moments of silence to respond, but she never does. “You scared me, Nat. And we’re all worried about you.”</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t be. I should have been stronger. I’m the Black Widow for fuck’s sake. This should have never happened in the first place and even if it did, I shouldn’t care.”</p>
<p>“You had a head injury, Nat. No one blames you-”</p>
<p>“This is hardly the first time, Clint. I’ve been an assassin since the age ten. These things happen. I was trained to not let this kind of stupid stuff bother me so much.”</p>
<p>“It’s not stupid, Tasha.”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, it is, Clint! This is ridiculous! I tried to take a shower earlier and I couldn’t even look in the mirror at myself. I used about half a bottle of soap and still don’t feel clean. I can’t close my eyes without being back in that goddamn warehouse or back in the red room or wherever the hell else. And why? Why do I care so fucking much? It’s just sex. It doesn’t really matter. I use sex all the time on missions and it doesn’t do this to me.”</p>
<p>“That wasn’t ‘just sex’, Natasha. And all those other missions, you choose to do that- You still had control. This was-“ He can’t bring himself to say the actual word. “God, Nat. Your whole life has been based around constantly having control, having the upper hand. Of course it hurts having that control ripped away liked that.”</p>
<p>He’s making sense, he can tell by her refusal to respond back to him, instead shifting her eyes away from him. “Would you be saying the same thing if it had happened to me?”</p>
<p>Natasha’s eyes snap back to him, the anger returned. “No, of course not.”</p>
<p>“So why are you any different? And don’t give me the “I was trained for this” or any other excuses because it doesn’t matter. What matters is we are both human beings with thoughts and emotions and feelings and the right to have control over what happens to our bodies.”</p>
<p>Natasha turns her head away from him then, choosing to stare at the wall to her right instead. She takes a deep breath, but Clint can hear the shakiness hidden beneath her too careful exhale. Clint takes this as a sign he’s finally gotten through to her, and moves away from the door to come perch next to her, his arm brushing hers lightly.</p>
<p>“I know that growing up you didn’t have anyone. But you don’t have to go through this alone, Natasha. Not again.”</p>
<p>The woman turns her gaze to him and gives him a small, watery smile. Clint smiles back and holds out his pinky finger to her. “Pinky promise me you’ll let me help you?” Natasha rolls her eyes for the second time that day, but wraps her own pinky around his nonetheless.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Leave a kudos if you liked and comments are always greatly apperciated! You can come visit me anytime at Natasha-romanoff-deserved-better.tumblr.com</p>
<p>Sexual Assault phone hotline: 800.656.HOPE (4673)<br/>Sexual Assault Online Chat Hotline: https://hotline.rainn.org/online?_ga=2.238481728.1158974064.1589745503-727733964.1589745503</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed! And as always, sorry for any stupid English mistakes. </p><p>Leave a kudos and a review if you liked it, or come visit me anytime at @Natasha-Romanoff-deserved-better.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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